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1st Illyrian Dragoons
The Regiment: We weren’t meant to survive, every man knew that. A blocking force, one to dig in and pretend to be a threat. Dig in right alongside every man and woman of the regiment, with nothing but trees and hills for cover. You want bitterness? Ask around the tankers, what few were there: Leman Russes snatched away for ‘more qualified units’. We got to keep our Autocannons, at least. I’m still not sure why we didn’t run. Basilisk shells all around us kept us in our holes, commissars behind us, but I never saw a single man break. Heavy artillery turned to mortar fire and grenade launchers, and then they were on us. Heavy tank guns roared in front of us, and missiles streaked out from our foxholes. Rocks were turned to powder, and we fought the separatists with bayonets and shovels. I never asked how long it took: felt like weeks to me. Two months of running and patrolling, drilling and simple waiting around, and I remember each second of that battle better than all of it. I’ll never forget the sight of red-clad infantry running from dug-in heavy bolters, running as our grenades tore their ranks to shreds. We were meant to hold the line and wait for the armor to come in. That wasn’t good enough for us: we had them broken and running before the first scout tanks arrived. Why? Not sure. I think we all had something to prove. That we were the match of any regiment on that Emperor-blighted world, Cadians or Vostroyans or whatever. Felt good, to watch the moustaches twitch on armored officers’ faces, when they realized we tyro upstarts had already done their job for them. -Sergeant Jere Khan, 2nd Illyrian Infantry Illyria is a world on the ragged frontier of the Empire, a young, large world of harsh mountain ranges and wide steppes. A young colony and a young player in system politics, it has succeeded well beyond predictions. Rich mines of promethium sparked a booming industry while fertile land allowed for a population boom. Shrewd leadership and no small shortage of luck has turned a colony of only ten generations into a thriving world . The mossy crags and dull blue oceans have been specked with wide and deep sprawls of grey, of human colonization, and the people there view themselves as much a part of the Imperium as anywhere else. But there is always special treatment, and there are always circumstances that conspire. Some local powers are jealous of the wealth and success Illyria has come to wield, some opportunistic leaders see it as a possibility for expansion, some far-off pragmatists see nothing but numbers. Two years ago, Illyria was ordered to create a fourth regiment, a demand unusual and out of proportion, especially with no major campaigns going on in the region. Conscripts came in droves, but there were still the eager volunteers, those who had missed the last foundings and saw an opportunity for a new life. The 1st Illyrian Dragoons were born: no longer a line infantry regiment, one among thousands, the Dragoons are a regiment created to number itself among the elite of the Imperial Guard, a regiment on whose shoulders rests, in part, the hopes of a colony seeking to earn its place as a prestigious and respected bastion of the Imperium. The Dragoons have been equipped with a generous panoply of gear, provided both by a mature arms industry on the planet, and imports from far-off Forge Worlds. The two years given were spent training volunteers to be the backbone of the unit, creating a functioning military body. Officers were selected and trained from families that had never had a Guard showing, from the poor and from social climbers who craved the wage or the honor. Now, the regiment is prepared. Some elements have been operating in support capacities for the last year, collecting experience and feedback, but now the full might of the Regiment is being called into action. Verghast IV will be the first great challenge of the Regiment, a place to prove itself the match for the expectations placed on it. Seen as a collection of green recruits or pampered rich kids playing at soldier by various command elements and their fellow soldier, the Illyrian soldier faces what will without question be the greatest challenge of his or her life. We were under heavy fire when she came to us, walking with little more than a perfunctory duck of the head. The Colonel moved as if her contempt for the enemy aim was enough of a shield to keep her perfectly safe. Pale skin in the desert, but eyes as blue as the sky above, she spoke with quick, sharp gestures. ‘Take a squad, clear out that outcropping,’ ‘Detach your armor and push it twelve kilometers north-northwest’, ‘Redirect basilisk fire for twelve minutes, then conserve ammunition’. The Captain hardly knew what was happening before she was gone: he had been with me in the 14th Verussian, was as new to the Regiment as I was. Major Ingran didn’t even blink, he merely got back to work. She hopped back in her Chimera and set off to some other unit. We fought for a deadly hour, the casualties made better by the knowledge it was a winning battle. Pushing towards a little oasis and burning conscript insurrectionists out of their holes. As soon as the enemy slammed back, with massed armor and birds overhead, she came back. Her badge of rank glinted on her cuffs, and she listened to the Major’s report. Nodding now and then, she was silent but for the occasional question. She didn’t even promise support. The Major seemed to simply accept that help was on the way. Captain Cohen protested, but he was shut up when our armor came back half an hour later and let us sweep the bastards into the sea. We stopped questioning Colonel Vint, after that. -Lieutenant Bucharius Herran, formerly of the 14th Verussian Guard, now 1st Illyrian Dragoons. Under unorthodox and largely unproven leadership, the 1st Illyrian Dragoons have made planetfall in the deserts of Verghast IV. Lead elements have just completed a short, sharp campaign to earn an urban toehold on the road towards the twin hives of the great desert, Vitria and Strahlun. Now, as enemy forces assemble and prepare to throw loyalist forces off of the dunes and tear them off their terrestrial holdings. Great civilian population centers have fallen, and within them insurrection festers, threatens to boil over. A hundred old rivalries and vested interests have emerged during six months of invasion, and the hardened veterans that stand between the Dragoons and their Hive objectives will take any opportunity to strike hard and violent. Supply lines, command centers, staging areas, all are vulnerable to attack. The question that faces the Dragoons is: are they vulnerable as well? Regimental Quirks: The integration of non-Illyrian troops with the fresh regiment has been dealt with not by using the units separately but by mixing them together. Loyalty to the regiment first and all else second has been instilled and re-instilled into both new recruits and the integrated veterans. While there are certainly still striations and distrust amongst some, the integration has proved remarkably successful: a unified regiment culture has been achieved, with variation from man to man. This regimental insularity and culture has only become more pronounced as the regiment has faced discrimination and what they see as unearned distrust. Illyria has fielded no notable Guard regiments, participated in no major campaigns, nor has it a martial tradition or culture of nobility to fall back on. They are seen by many in the higher echelons of Guard command as amateur greenhorns with no place in the vanguard of IG operations, and this fact has been reported to the lower ranks time and again. The Dragoons are, by and large, a mistrustful and prideful lot, with a culture of splendid isolationism developing. The particular timbre of the culture is one of harsh meritocracy and a prioritizing of results ahead of sacrifice. Personal prestige is sought after and highly rewarded, and units are put into active competition with each other for the favor of their commanders, and thus the more noble and respectable operations. It is a unit of extreme delegation: decisions are encouraged to be made at the lowest levels, due in part to the fact that most of the soldiers have similar levels of real experience regardless of rank. Despite this, discipline is mandated with an iron fist, and the chain of command is to be not only respected but trusted. Since their comrades in the regiment are the only ones they can trust, members of the regiment have a higher than normal level of trust for other units bearing the Regiment’s wreathed flame insignia. The commander of the Regiment exemplifies these traits. Colonel Iska Vint was a Lieutenant in the 1st Illyrian Infantry who proved herself over a twenty year military career to be a capable front-line soldier, and a gifted combat leader. Organization has never been her strong suit, but she has established the culture of delegation to address these shortcomings. She has absolute faith in her commanders and enlisted men and women, faith she ensures with strict discipline. Her commands rarely instruct how do to a thing, instead simply ordering what be accomplished. Her staff is small and versatile, and her command style is built to rapidly address problems and give useful orders to guardsmen. Calm and aloof, she has set the tone for the Regiment. What remains to be seen is if her leadership will stand the test that Verghast poses: will her unorthodox command style send the regiment to its death in the sands? Will all the confidence and operational culture in galaxy save the sons and daughters of the Regiment, no longer their homeworlds, from death at the hands of insurgent firebombs or PDF tanks? Time, not calming speeches, will give the answer. Regiment Crunch: Frontier World Phlegmatic Commander Mechanized Infantry Regiment Sharpshooters Well-Provisioned Mistrusted Favored Weapons: Grenade Launcher, Autocannon